


psycho

by bettysjughead



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, F/M, Murder, Psychopath, also when do i not write creepy?, but this one’s crazy, like help me, this one’s creepy, when do i ever write something not au??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysjughead/pseuds/bettysjughead
Summary: he changed her completely, making her fall for his crazed ways and strange mentality. and then he left without a trace, making her question if her sanity was hanging on the edge just as much as he was.





	1. psycho

 

he changed her completely, making her fall for his crazed ways and strange mentality. and then he left without a trace, making her question if her sanity was hanging on the edge just as much as he was.

 

_set in 1955_

_—_

 

**jughead jones | twenty-one**

 

 

**elizabeth cooper | seventeen**

 

• • • •


	2. 01

jughead,

 

veronica lodge was number one. you were her biology partner for a year until something in you clicked, and she was found at seven o’clock on a chilly january morning with stab wounds spread across her body. 

 

they never found the knife, they didn’t even find a trace of dna on her body. you were so good at hiding your tracks. too good.

 

she was very pretty, judging by the picture that you kept. straight raven hair framed her tan skin, and her bright brown eyes stood out strong. her lips and eyebrows were full, her face structure perfect.

 

how could you destroy such a beautiful thing?

 

you haunt my dreams every single night, with dark blue eyes and a taunting smirk, a snark ripping through your plump lips before you pounce. i always wake up out of breath, your name engraved on my tongue.

 

jughead, you’re a monster. a damaged, deranged monster. and i can’t seem to get enough of you.


	3. 02

jughead,

 

ethel muggs was the next victim. with short and curly dirty blonde hair and green eyes and a smile that could light up the room, you were so in love with her. so why?

 

you started dating when you were fifteen, until she broke up with you at eighteen. you cheated on her. took her heart for yourself and ripped it out before standing on it right before her eyes. at least, that’s what you explained it as. you couldn’t live with the guilt, so you got rid of it. you killed her, for your own mistakes.

 

i often sit and wonder, if you never cheated on ethel and you were still together, perhaps you wouldn’t be the way you are, and neither would i. but then i realize that you had killed someone before, and so you definitely had it in you to do it again. it only took a matter of time. maybe ethel just got unlucky, was there at the wrong time.

 

i pity her.

 

you made love to her, so you said. watched as the tears prickled the corners of her eyes from the pleasure running so deep, felt her completely as she let you have her one last time before she let you go. almost like a goodbye.

 

i bet she didn’t know she’d be saying goodbye to her life in a few short minutes as you climaxed inside of her. and then you left her cold, before tugging your pants on and pulling something out of your jacket pocket. she died instantly, the impact of the bullet strong enough to push her back and hit her head on the wooden bed post. 

 

if you couldn’t have her, no one else could.


	4. 03

jughead,

 

it baffles me how you killed all of these innocent women with no guilt running through your mind whatsoever. how you could watch the life leave their eyes and not feel a single speck of remorse for them.

 

the next woman you killed was nameless. in other words, you didn’t know her name as you picked her up from a prostitution ring one night after thinking about ethel. you said that it was lust, you lusted after someone after watching your ex-lover unravel in front of you, completely losing herself thanks to you.

 

she had similar features to ethel, yet you didn’t feel a flutter in your heart as she smiled at you, letting her hand run over her thigh in the car. her blonde hair didn’t shine, it wasn’t soft and curly. it was definitely dyed, pin straight and greasy, the roots showing at the top. you specifically said you wouldn’t touch it even if you had a hundred guns pointed at you  and your only option was to place a finger on it.

 

maybe because you already had a million guns turned on you in your head.

 

you lead the woman into your house, immediately slamming her roughly into the door and ripping her tight shirt off. she tried kissing you, but you denied it. the way you wrote about every minor detail left me distraught. you didn’t see her as an actual human being, but as someone who got paid to be dominated. paid to be used. 

 

it did upset me to read.

 

you finished and told her to leave, throwing a couple bills her way. she went without protest, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

 

you regretted it, didn’t you? the memories with ethel ran through your mind, taunting and teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore. that’s why you went running after the woman, grabbing her by her hair, before smashing her face into a wall. quickly and precisely, you stabbed her right in the heart.

 

and even after all of that, your only thought was the vile feeling of her hair, as you whacked her head relentlessly. and how it didn’t match up to ethel’s beautiful locks at all.


	5. 04

jughead,

 

your next journal entry was dated three months after the night with that woman. you felt different in that quarter of the year, quoting that  _your urge to kill wasn’t as strong._

 

you really were ill, weren’t you jughead?

 

the writing was messier this time around, often scribbling lines off into words that didn’t make sense. the ink was blotchy. had you been crying?

 

no, of course not. you didn’t feel guilt for anybody, not a fiber in your body felt bad for your actions. you were jughead jones, and you didn’t care about the feelings and wellbeing of others.

 

what was it about midge that changed that?

 

a quiet girl, you said. she worked at a coffee shop on elm street, her short brown hair in a ponytail under her cap as her brown eyes sparkled. her teeth were pearly white as she smiled, her lumps plump and her nose a cute button type.

 

she knocked the air out of your lungs the first time that you laid eyes on her.

 

you didn’t like coffee, so the only reason you stepped into a place that smelled of something that made you sick, was because of her. i wouldn’t blame you, if i saw a handsome man in a clown shop, i wouldn’t hesitate to go in.

 

_i’m joking._

 

 

you ordered the first thing you saw on the menu, which was a small vanilla latte. she asked if you would like caramel cream with that, and you didn’t have a clue what that was but to hear her voice again, you said ‘excuse me?’ she repeated the question, and you fell even more as you said ‘yes please.’

 

it was expensive as fuck and you watched, whilst someone else to make your coffee, as she served the next person. a tall guy with light brown hair and muscles. she blushed when he winked at her and put a ten dollar bill in the tip jar. 

 

and you were angry. you were absolutely livid as you watched them converse, a lot more than what she did with you.

 

you didn’t feel anything as you tackled the guy into the back street as he walked out the side entrance. a wrong move, on his part, because nobody was around and it was getting quite dark now that it was winter. you stabbed him with a fork in the hand, making him open his mouth to cry out in pain before it stopped. you shot him in the mouth.

 

you didn’t register the sobs from behind you, until you turned around and were faced with that girl. you smiled, unaware of her gaze on the dead man behind you. 

 

“hi, baby,” you said, completely different to the person you had been recently. the monster was back. she screams then, punching you repeatedly in the chest before she kneels down beside the man.

 

”please, wake up. oh my god, wake up,” she cries. you didn’t know the man was her boyfriend. soon to be fiancé. and then you saw the box that fell out of his pocket.

 

you ruined someone’s relationship for your own benefit.

 

of course, you couldn’t leave her, she would tell everybody, your name and face would be all over town as wanted. and so, you did the next best thing to killing her.

 

you knocked her out cold and strapped her in the truck of your car, speeding away to your house on the hill. 

 

it amazes me how you got away with your doings for so long, without anyone knowing it was you.


	6. 05

jughead,

 

you now had midge in your basement, and she pissed you off because she wouldn’t stop crying, but you’d rather stick pins in your eyes than kill her because she was special.

 

and you thought she secretly loved you.

 

you were deranged.

 

the whimpers that came from the room below you made a fluttery feeling appear in your stomach, one you could only recognize as arousal. so you walked downstairs, hearing the whimpers get louder and your heart stopped when you saw her struggling against the ropes.

 

but you didn’t, you took care of yourself, and didn’t traumatize her further. i guess you do have a decent bone in your body after all.

 

for four weeks you kept her there. you fed her, changed her clothes, and were always respectful about it. you wondered what else you could do to make her happy. you told her time and time again that you loved her, but you didn’t know her, jughead. they say love at first sight is real but a love that runs so deep, like yours did with midge, was impossible to have from just one conversation. and it was about coffee, coffee you didn’t even like.

 

exactly thirty days after the kidnapping, you walked downstairs feeling happy. a fluttering feeling in your stomach as you thought of the beautiful girl just moments away.

 

but when you got to the bottom step, the happy feeling was displaced by one of anger, rage, and sadness; something you didn’t know the feeling of until you saw her.

 

she had spent three weeks in total perfecting her plan, and carried it out correctly. she hung herself with the rope you kept downstairs after chewing her way through the ropes around her wrists. she lost three teeth, but that didn’t matter anyway.

 

she was dead hours before you got to her.


	7. 06

jughead,

 

midge’s death wasn’t your fault physically, but mentally it was. you killed her slowly, tortured her to the point where she thought there was nothing to live for.

 

you killed her boyfriend, and left him in the basement with her. everyday she had to look at her constantly decaying boyfriend who started to smell. she watched as the spiders and rats would crawl over his body, and she would sit there, staring into space as his chest was non-moving and his eyes were no longer filled with life.

 

she hated you. she despised you on another level, that went beyond hatred. you thought she loved you? you were wrong, so wrong that you didn’t know what was right anymore. she loathed you, jughead.

 

but you never saw that, you literally saw her as a beautiful girl who you wanted, and nothing got in the way of what you wanted.

 

that’s where i come in.

 

i was seventeen when you first saw me, dated june the ninth, nineteen fifty-five. you were twenty-one and it was a few months after you saw midge hanged.

 

the library on green street was where i would stay until eight o’clock on a school night and all day on the weekends. it was my happy place, the only place i could truly be myself. reading books was one of the only pleasures i indulged myself in.

 

you came in to speak to janine, the librarian, so you could say. a beautiful woman with dark hair and tan skin. veronica’s double. you never specifically said you were into older women, but you weren’t really. you liked girls younger than you, because you liked being in charge. it was your only nature.

 

i apparently sidetracked your original ambitions, you saw me just as you opened your mouth to flirt with janine. i was young, i had my hair in a ponytail, my reading glasses perched on the bridge of my nose, with a tendency to scrunch it up. i appeared to be a stereotypical nerd, but i wasn’t. people assumed because i wore glasses, i was a dork, but i was as thick as sheep’s wool.

 

it feels strange to write about myself in the third person but i’m going off your diary here, the only thing i have left of you. 

 

you became curious of me instantly, noticing that i had black and blue marks on my arms where my sweater had ridden up. your eyes ran down my body until you reached my legs  which were bare expect the denim shorts i had on.

 

and those shorts i had on, was the beginning of our twisted tale.


	8. 07

•  **b e t t y** •

 

with one movement i had pushed the glasses that were sliding down my nose, upwards, my vision and concentration levels on this book becoming more aware.

 

i could feel eyes burning into my skull, but i’d rather not look up to check my theories, in case someone was actually staring at me. plus, i was never really right, anyway.

 

as i flip the page and continue reading, a cough makes me stop in my tracks. looking up, i’m faced with a tall man with curly dark hair and striking blue eyes. i was in awe with him, as crazy as it may sound since i had just met him. he smiles a little, oceanic eyes traveling to my legs.

 

”my sister has the same ones,” he speaks, his voice coming out rough, yet warm. it was sweet like honey, yet bitter like ginger.

 

he’s referring to my shorts, obviously. but what am i meant to say back to that? i am the most awkward person in the world, especially when i am in front of guys who are as dashing as this stranger.

 

”oh,” i chuckle, nervously fidgeting in my seat. 

 

“i take it you’re into all that feminist stuff, then?” he asks, pulling out the chair opposite me. i’m taken aback by his straightforwardness, my mouth partly opening before i snap it shut again.

 

”i think everyone should be  _into all that feminist stuff_ ,” I mock, feeling slightly offended by the tone of his voice, as he spoke lowly about something that i felt so strong about.

 

“yeah? you can vote nowadays so why do you want more? what more could you want?” he asks, like he’s genuinely intrigued by my answer.  _typical men, so self absorbed that they don’t understand what the world is going through_.

 

”let me put it this way for you. when a man walks into a room full of women, he gets excited. yet, when a woman walks into a room of men, she is afraid. tell me why? because a a man has always been deemed the more stronger sex. the more overpowering, the more intimidating. it’s not only unfair on women, because we are so much more than the weak-minded humans that society pegged us out to be, but it’s unfair on the men who want to show emotions without being called a wimp, just because he isn’t like all the stereotypical men. feminism isn’t all about women being superior, it’s about the genders being equal. and just because we can vote doesn’t me we are anywhere near what we should be in this day and age.”

 

”women should cover themselves up,” he states, scoffing. our town in new york really wasn’t like the rest of the world. we had the least judgemental people possible here, so when the local dress tailor started making shorts, the women could wear them without a care in the world.

 

“and men shouldn’t go around with their pants zipper down, but look at you.”

 

_and he’s shut up._


	9. 08

**• b e t t y •**

 

i scoff and go back to reading my book, waiting for him to respond, if he does at all. when i usually challenge men about my beliefs, they argue until i win and then they leave because they don’t want to be outsmarted by a woman. it happens every single time.

 

”you like psychology?” he questions, eyes fixated on the book. or  _they change the topic._

 

”i suppose so,” i mumble, flicking the pages to see an image of a mass murderer from eighteen fifty-two. he was a horrendous man.

 

“oh yeah? what’s your favorite murder case?” he asks, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, smirking like he was trying to prove something. 

 

“i have an interest in the h.h holmes killings. he was so smart, though he got caught out in the end. they always do,” i say with a faint chuckle.

 

”not always,” he adds on quickly, but shuts his mouth right away.

 

he was strange, and he was peculiar. but i liked him. he seemed to be the type of person i could argue with, without him giving up in the first five minutes. he seemed intelligent.

 

“eleanor pearcey,” he says, my eyes locking with his. “that was pretty funny,” he sniggers.

 

”you find the murder of a woman and child funny?” i enquire, to which he shakes his head rapidly.

 

”no, i find her excuse funny. she said, when the police came and saw the blood, she had a nosebleed and was killing rabbits before they came. and why would she kill her husband and own child? just shows how stupid a woman can really be.”

 

he laughs, but stops when he realizes i’m not laughing with him.

 

”and you just show how stupid a man can be, sir. because eleanor pearcey claimed to be killing mice when the police questioned her. not rabbits. she also killed her husband’s lover and the child the lover had with the husband. not her own child, nice try.”

 

he looks at me in awe as i grab my book bag and walk out of the library doors, my borrowed books in hand. 

 

and as much as it disturbed me, i couldn’t get the image of him out of my head for the rest of the day. and as much as it disturbed me even more, i didn’t mind one bit.


	10. 09

**• j u g h e a d •**

 

i had never met a woman so strong-minded and so fucking beautiful in my twenty-one years of life. not midge or even ethel could match up to her intelligence, and that drew me in.

 

at first it was just plain physical attraction, but the more i talked to her, the more i became mentally attracted to her. i only spoke to her for two minutes, so call me crazy if you wish. you wouldn’t be wrong.

 

the way her eyes slightly creased at the sides when she smiled at her book was absolutely alluring. along with her eyes, green, but the sexiest shade of green i had ever seen. they complemented her hair color beautifully. and her skin, so soft and tender, pale yet tanned. she was like a real life princess, and she was stunning.

 

the fact that she was interested in psychology just made her more intriguing. she thought like me, she must do. besides the killing stuff, she had the same mindset that i did. why else would she be reading books about mass murders in the eighteen hundreds?

 

the answer was, she wouldn’t. i had never seen anybody else spend their free time reading about things that connect to me. maybe she would understand.

 

_jughead, you’re being ridiculous._


	11. 10

•  **b e t t y** •

 

jughead and i had been spending a lot of time with each other. to begin with, it was simple conversations in the library, where janine would tell us to quiet down, but with a bright smile on her lips.

 

however as time went on, he asked me to meet him at cafes and parks, and even his house. i had expected a place full of art and design, because that’s what jughead seemed like. and that’s exactly what i got.

 

paintings hung on the walls of the hallway, a red theme by the looks of it. they were extravagant, as it looked like someone had filled up a water balloon up with red paint and threw it at a blank canvas. but, the simplicity was what made them eye catching.

 

names were printed beneath each picture, from  _ethel muggs to veronica lodge._ i recognized the names, but couldn’t quite put my finger on as to where from. they were probably the artists who made them.

 

there was only two rooms in his house, not including the kitchen, living area and bathroom. nor the room that was behind a locked door, which he described to be full of cleaning supplies. how fun.

 

he cooked us dinner one night, and slipped up with his words when he referred to it as a date. i blushed light pink at his mistake. 

 

we still argued slightly over topics, but it was friendly banter, whereas before i could genuinely stab him for what he would say. metaphorically, of course. i’m not a violent person.

 

and when he took me back to my house, he left a kiss on my cheek, his lips burning hot on my skin. the dimpled smile he gave me afterwards was enough to make me pass out in my flustered state. 

 

“goodnight, betty,” he winked, walking down the footpath to his car. i placed a hand on my cheek as i watched him walk.

 

”goodnight, jughead,” i whispered.


End file.
